


the fear of falling apart

by towokuwusatsuwu



Series: Pride 2018: 30 Days of S.W.O.R.D. [18]
Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: Aniki… Aniki… The word resonates through his brain and he clings to Smokey, pressing his face against the dirty fabric of Smokey’s jacket as tears drip down his cheeks. No words come to him and he can only hope that Smokey knows something is terribly wrong because it isn’t like HIroto can tell him himself. It’s hard just to keep breathing right now.“Hiroto…” Smokey’s fingers slip into his hair, the pads soothing Hiroto’s skull, massaging gently. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here for you. Takeshi, Pi, you can leave. I’ve got him now.”“Are you sure?” Takeshi’s voice is soft but urgent.Smokey scoffs softly at him. “He’s not a danger to me. He could never be, and not in this condition. Please go. Give us some measure of privacy.”





	the fear of falling apart

When Takeru dies, Hiroto finds himself walking aimlessly around the S.W.O.R.D. region, feeling numb all the way through and in desperate need of something or anything that will distract him from the pain resonating between his ribs outward, blanketing his entire torso in a constant wave of stabbing agony. His older brother had given his life to give them a chance at saving their home but Hiroto can’t think about that right now. All he can think about is his brother dying in front of him, Takeru cruelly wrested away from them long before it was his time to go.

He hardly intends to walk to the Nameless Street at this hour, when the night is growing bitterly cold and his fingertips are beginning to ache from the chill. With his brain refusing to focus on any one thing, he doesn’t think he could pick a direction and stick to it even if he wanted to. Instead, he turns over the idea of having closeness and warmth, and lets his heart, broken and bleeding, lead the way to the one person who might be able to offer him something tonight.

The Rudeboys are somewhat used to seeing him here now, and he supposes he should be grateful for that because they no longer treat him like an enemy. That someone gets to Smokey before he does so that Hiroto, staggering down the center road on legs too tired to hold him any longer, doesn’t have to go looking for him on his own.

“Hiroto.” Smokey’s voice is soft but Hiroto hears it over the static in his ears. Flanked by Takeshi and Pi, Smokey walks down the road purposefully toward him and Hiroto wets his lips, trying to think of something to say. “Hiroto, it’s so late. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

That question is unfair. It means telling him about Takeru and Hiroto’s throat closes at the thought, tears pricking the backs of his eyes. Before he can answer, his knees give out beneath him and he falls to them, the impact rattling his body. Smokey is there a moment later and before he can get down on Hiroto’s level, Hiroto pulls him close, presses his face against Smokey’s stomach, his chest heaving as a sob claws its way up his throat.

_ Aniki… Aniki… _ The word resonates through his brain and he clings to Smokey, pressing his face against the dirty fabric of Smokey’s jacket as tears drip down his cheeks. No words come to him and he can only hope that Smokey knows something is terribly wrong because it isn’t like HIroto can tell him himself. It’s hard just to keep breathing right now.

“Hiroto…” Smokey’s fingers slip into his hair, the pads soothing Hiroto’s skull, massaging gently. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here for you. Takeshi, Pi, you can leave. I’ve got him now.”

“Are you sure?” Takeshi’s voice is soft but urgent.

Smokey scoffs softly at him. “He’s not a danger to me. He could never be, and not in this condition. Please go. Give us some measure of privacy.”

The main road clears out quickly but Hiroto almost doesn’t notice, muffling broken sounds against Smokey’s coat, fingers knotted in the fabric to keep Smokey as close as humanly possible. He whines low and helpless in the back of his throat when Smokey pulls his hands free of the coat but it’s only so Smokey can kneel down in front of him, his thumbs brushing the tears off of Hiroto’s cheeks and from his eyes. The concern on his face breaks Hiroto’s heart more, because he wishes he didn’t have to upset Smokey.

“You’re so upset. What happened?” Smokey holds Hiroto’s face in his hands but Hiroto can feel the fine tremor there, how tired Smokey is, how much this will take out of him. “Please take a deep breath and talk to me so I can figure out what I have to do to help you feel better.”

The idea of this pain going away is a joke but Hiroto doesn’t tell Smokey that. Instead, he reaches for Smokey, a hand sliding up into his shaggy, poorly cut hair to pull him close, pressing their lips together. There’s a slight coppery tang on Smokey’s tongue— he must have had a hard day, and the thought  _ hurts _ deep— but Hiroto pulls him all the closer. He’d once sworn to himself he would never burden Smokey, because between his illness and the Nameless Street, Smokey has too much to take care of. Adding more to that feels unfairly cruel.

Smokey’s fingers link neatly together behind Hiroto’s neck and he lets Hiroto kiss him with all the desperation, need, and  _ passion _ that he always harbors when it comes to Smokey. He knows people have varying tastes but just the same he never saw an underfed bleeding heart in too many layers with sadder eyes than a kicked puppy dog becoming his undoing, and now, the comfort Hiroto crawls to on his knees.

When the kiss breaks, because Smokey needs to  _ breathe, _ Hiroto pulls Smokey into his arms and holds him close. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for coming here.”

“What are you talking about?” Smokey touches his face entirely too soft and Hiroto presses into the touch, needy. “If you’re upset about something, you can always come to me about it.”

“But I shouldn’t. You’ve… There’s so much, already…” Hiroto sniffles pathetically, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, and he’s fallen so far already that what’s a little farther? But doing this to Smokey guts him, putting more on him than what he already deals with.

Smokey sighs and kisses his forehead, his lips so soft against Hiroto’s skin. “Please don’t think you can’t come to me when something is wrong just because I have trouble here at home as well. You’re as important to me as they are and I don’t want you to suffer in silence, Hiro.”

The nickname is like a gentle slap to the face, reaching Hiroto past the ache in his chest, the painful throb in his heart. It isn’t often that Smokey uses it, and the few times he has, Hiroto has been certain he must have misheard, or Smokey’s soft voice simply wore out on him before he could finish speaking Hiroto’s full name. Now, though, he hears it loud and clear and opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out this time.

Smokey presses their foreheads together, looping his arms around Hiroto’s shoulders, rubbing at his shoulders through the cold leather of his jacket. “My poor, sweet boy. What’s made you cry so much? I hate seeing you so upset without knowing what I can do to help.”

“Takeru…” He chokes on his brother’s name and he feels Smokey tense in his arms, and he doesn’t think he can do it, that he can say it. “Aniki, he… I… He’s gone.”

Smokey’s soft inhalation of breath tells Hiroto that Smokey understands, got the message loud and clear, and then his hands are on Hiroto’s face again, tilting it up so Smokey can look down into his eyes. The moonlight frames him, a soft silver glow that makes him seem more like an angel than ordinary man, which is accurate, because hasn’t Hiroto always thought Smokey was a little otherworldly even through the layers of dirty clothing, the grit and grime?

“I’m so sorry.” Smokey kisses Hiroto’s forehead again and Hiroto squeezes his eyes shut, tears squeezing out from under his lids. They’re hot on his cheeks until the air cools them and then they sting against his skin. “I had no idea. I’m sorry, I know you wanted to find him so badly. You loved your big brother so much and I’m sure he knew that.”

“He did. I know he did.” Hiroto gulps down air and then presses his face against Smokey’s throat. This close, he can hear how Smokey’s breath rattles, and a stab of guilt guts him. “Smokey, no, we can’t… You’re not doing well and it’s… Shouldn’t be out, this cold—”

Smokey squeezes the back of his neck and he shuts up his inane babbling. “If you don’t want me out here in the cold, then come inside with me. I don’t feel right sending you home in this state, unless you want to go home to Masaki, that is.”

He should. He should go home to share this pain with his living brother, so they can lean on each other and be the support each other needs, but he can’t. Not right now. Tearing himself away from Smokey might be the right thing to do, because Smokey needs to rest and Masaki will otherwise be alone, but just this once Hiroto needs to be selfish. He doesn’t think he could leave the Nameless Street if he wanted to, legs sore and chest hollow, when Smokey is offering him everything he could possibly need at this moment.

Instead, he allows Smokey to pull him to his feet, staggering after him, clinging to Smokey’s hand like a lifeline that he will die without. The futon is old and ragged, the blankets and pillows on top old and most likely filched from a dumpster, but Hiroto doesn’t care. He lets Smokey guide his leather jacket off of his shoulders, too cold to keep them warm, before Smokey pulls him down into the nest, kissing him when he hiccups.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” Smokey kisses his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, and finally lips. Every touch is featherlight and Hiroto’s heart clenches so hard it hurts, a stabbing sensation in his chest. “Let it all out, Hiro. I’ll hold you until there’s nothing left.”

Hiroto has no idea how long he cries before the tears run dry and the dry heaves turn to quiet whimpers and whines, nothing left. His chest is hollow and empty, his face stinging and sore from the tears, his throat sore from all of the noises that broke free when he thought he would be fine. Smokey holds him tight, holds Hiroto’s head against his chest and lets Hiroto cling to him as tightly as he needs to.

When it finally ends, Smokey tips his head up by the chin, wiping a tear from where it drops over Hiroto’s lips. “Do you feel any better now?”

“Nuh-no.” Hiroto doesn’t think he can survive this pain, even though he and Masaki have a mission ahead of them, even though Takeru died leaving them with that they needed to take down Kuryu and save the S.W.O.R.D. region once and for all. “Hurts so bad, Smokey.”

“I can only imagine. It breaks my heart to see you so sad.” Smokey wipes another few tears away and Hiroto sniffles pitifully. “But your heart is broken more. So I’ll help you patch it back together if you want me to.”

The offer is a sweet one and not unlike Smokey; it’s what Hiroto needs right now and though he still feels guilty, he can’t stop himself from clinging to Smokey like he might die the moment the two of them are parted. “Please. I just… I watched him die. I— We couldn’t do anything…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Smokey kisses him and Hiroto presses into it, desperate for the warmth and the contact. “You can stay right here with me tonight and I’ll hold you. We’ll go from here when morning comes. For now, if you can, just get some rest.”

Hiroto doesn’t think sleep will come, but the fatigue gets the better of him and having Smokey’s arms around him soothes his soul enough that he feels safe enough to just let go. He won’t wake up alone. Even if he doesn’t wake up until well after noon, Smokey will be right here with him, ready to weather the storm ahead with him. Of that much, Hiroto is confident. Maybe some part of him knew that and drew him to Smokey, sure this was where he needs to be.

He’s beyond grateful for Smokey, the man he loves stronger than he can even imagine.


End file.
